


You're a Bad Father, John Winchester

by wingeddeanmon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gabriel basically rips off A Christmas Carol, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, It just comes for your feelings and takes no prisoners, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John cannot be redeemed, Lots of Cliches, Mentions of past Dean/Cassie, Neglect, Pulp, Wee!chesters, dark!fic, i'm so sorry but i'm really not, i'm still really bad at tagging things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:03:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddeanmon/pseuds/wingeddeanmon
Summary: Gabriel decides to teach John that he's a bad parent by ripping off A Christmas Carol to show him how much he messed up his sons' lives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by something mentioned by unforth, and it just kind of expanded from there. It's kind of pulpy (I just piled it up until it made something kind of recognizable). Also, Googling "word to describe curtains flowing aggressively in a supernatural wind" brings up some interesting results.

John Winchester woke up to a chill in the cheap motel room he rented for the night. Thick, gray fog curled around him and a hooded figure stood at the foot of his bed. John instinctively reached for his glock, but the figure snapped its fingers and he was frozen in place. There was a lot of strength crackling in the air making John's hair stand on end. Wind tore through the room, causing the curtains to whip around like vengeful spirits.

“You're a bad father, John Winchester,” the figure said, its voice loud and booming.

That made John's blood boil. Some thing was just going to break into his room and accuse him of being a crappy father? As soon as he got the chance, he was going to pump lead into this… whatever it is.

“Who the hell are you?” John demanded. “I'm not letting some freak break into my room and tell me what to do.”

“The ghost of Christmas Past, Present, and Future, and your ass is going to hell,” the hooded figure said, booming voice now gone and replaced with one that was much more normal and a little higher pitched.

The fog in the room disappeared completely and te inside of the hood was no longer dark, allowing John to see the person wearing it. He was short, and if John wasn't frozen in place he could definitely take him in a fight.

“You're not that much of a ghost then, are you?” John said, “Who are you, Casper?”

The electricity fluctuated around them and the temperature dropped. John knew he struck a nerve, and if he pissed him off enough he'd start making mistakes. But after a short pause, he regained his bravado and smirked.

“Actually, Johnny-Boy, I'm Gabriel,” he said, “As in the archangel. “

“What, did heaven run out of parts?” John scoffed.

Gabriel chuckled and his eyes gleamed with a darkness that John's only seen a few times before. There was a loud, sharp ringing that made John cringe. He tried to move again and was successful this time. Grabbing his glock, John fired three rounds into Gabriel. The man just cackled and each of the lights glowed brighter and brighter until they broke, glass shattering and flying all over the room. The windows started vibrating from the frequency until they gave way. Six dark, shadowy wings appeared behind Gabriel, each sprouting out of his back.

“What the hell are you?” John shouted, his voice barely audible over the intense ringing.

“I told you, I'm an archangel,” Gabriel said smugly, the bastard, “But luckily for you, tonight I'm just the ghosts.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and everything around them changed. The hood Gabriel had been wearing was gone and was replaced with flowing white robes. There was a glow around him, almost like he was on fire. They were standing in a tacky motel room. The wallpaper had a generic techno design that was full of bright colors that didn't match. Empty beer cans were scattered around the room and soft dawn light leaked into the room through the curtains. A young boy picked up the empty cans, tossing them into a trash bag and being careful that he wouldn't make more noise than he had to so he wouldn't wake the smaller boy in the bed nearby.

“Recognize that kid, Johnny-Boy?” Gabriel asked. “Can't be more than 10, but here he is, and I promise he's real.”

The boy didn't look over at them, acting as if they weren't even there. John studied the boy's face, feeling like he knew this kid from somewhere before.

“Dean?” a small, high voice asked, “Why’re you up? What's going on?”

An even younger Sam.Winchester about six, sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes.

“Where's Dad?” the younger boy asked.

“He got a call from work,” Dean lied, “Go back to sleep, Sammy.”

Sam yawned and kicked his feet over the side of the bed.

“When's Dad gonna be back?” Sam asked.

“When he's done with the job,” Dean said. “It snowed last night, we can go sledding later.”

“But we don't have sleds,” Sam said.

“That's where you're wrong, Sammy,” Dean said. Dean set down the trash bag and walked over to the door and held up a wooden sled. “We do have sleds. The real question is if we can find the biggest hill or not.”

With a sudden burst of energy, Sam jumped off the bed and ran over to Dean and hugged him. Dean hugged him briefly then ruffled his hair.

“C’mon, let's eat then we can head out,” Dean said.

Sam sat at the table and Dean poured him a bowl of cereal, emptying the rest of the box into the bowl. He poured the rest of the milk in then pushed it over to Sam who started eating right away. After a few bites, he paused.

“Aren't you gonna eat?” Sam asked.

“Already did,” Dean lied, “I got up way before you, remember? Now hurry up, we need to get out there before there's too many kids.”

“He's lying,” Gabriel said passively as he watched the scene in front of him.

Sam, however, easily accepted it and went back to eating, quickly shoving spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. Everything in John felt cold. Sam and Dean before Sam ran off to college and left his family behind. When was this? He didn't even remember this, there was no way he'd just leave them there, especially if they didn't have enough food.

“Oh, but you did,” Gabriel said, effectively breaking into John's thoughts, “Your hunt came ahead of them. Always did. Things like that don't just go away, you know?”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and they were transported into another sleazy motel room. Cheap liquor bottles were scattered around the floor, some bottles tipped over and spilling booze into the carpet. John, angrier then he was before, looked over at Gabriel who was now dressed in an oversized green robe that was lined with plush, white fur that rubbed against his face. Dean Winchester sat on a suspiciously stained beat-up couch with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Every so often he lifted it to his face and drank from it, trying to drown himself in it. His eyes were glassy instead of sharp and alert, and he had had jagged cut on his forehead that was stitched together sloppily instead of with his usual neat precision.

There was a cellphone in Dean's other hand and he dialed a number and held it to his ear. He took another swig of whiskey as he waited, but the person he was calling didn't answer.

“Look, I'm sorry, Cassie,” Dean said, “I can explain everything, I just need you to trust me on this one. I'm not crazy, I can prove it. It's Christmas, don't do this to me. Just call me back and I'll come home.”

He ended the call and downed the rest of the bottle and tossed it on the floor where it rolled across the room. Dean reached down and pulled another liquor bottle out of a paper bag on the floor. He drank from it for a few minutes and stared at the blank TV in front of him before he picked dialed a new number.

“C’mon, Sammy…” Dean said, “You've gotta be there…”

Next to him, Gabriel snapped his fingers so John could hear the automated voice from the other end of the phone.

“The number you have tried to reach has been disconnected…”

Dean groaned and closed the phone then tossed it somewhere next to him on the couch. John glared at Gabriel, feeling his anger bubble up again. All of that anger was met with a cool, level gaze and the corners of the angel's mouth was turned down in a frown. There was no emotion on his face and nothing about how he held himself gave any of his thoughts away.

“So what, is this all supposed to make me want to confess my sins and repent?” John asked gruffly.

“Oh no, Johnny-Boy,” Gabriel said.

Dean picked up the phone and dialed again.

“This is about so much more than you.”

The phone went straight to voicemail.

“See, when you leave wounds like this, they don't just go away…”

“Dad? C’mon, pick up,” Dean said, sounding more desperate than before, “I know Sam's not home, but it's Christmas…”

“...They tend to fester and rot from the inside out.”

With the snap of his fingers, they were transported to a crossroads. Sam was talking to a demon, but all of the words were blurred together. They continued to argue and again, John looked at Gabriel.

“What's the point of this?” John asked, a little bit more genuinely but he'd never let Gabriel know that.

“Sam died,” Gabriel said, “Dean sold his soul to save him. They gave him a year. If they gave him 10, they would have found a way out of it, no one doubted that and no one wanted to take that chance. Before you start feeling proud of yourself there, Dean made himself into that man, not you."

Gabriel snaps his fingers and transports them back to a cheap motel room. Sam and Dean are arguing. Dean wants to celebrate Christmas one last time, and Sam says that's the exact reason why he doesn't want to. The whole time they argued, Gabriel stared into John like he was looking into his soul. Which he probably was.

“You left them each year,” Gabriel said, “You made Sam and hunting priorities in Dean's life, so he'd be willing to give up his own to save Sam's.”

“That's not my fault,” John said, “It was his choice.”

“Charging a kid to look after his brother with little resources wasn't a choice, at least not for them,” Gabriel said. “You stunted Dean's growth, physical and emotional, and when Sammy realized it, he was devastated.”

There was another snap of Gabriel’s fingers and they were in front of a funeral pyre. Sam and Dean stood close to each other, both of them misty eyed.

“Showing me how much it'll screw them up when I die isn't going to do anything,” John spat.

“This isn't your death, John Winchester,” Gabriel said, “It's Bobby Singer's. Y’know, grumpy old guy in a baseball cap, raised the boys more than you ever did, spent most of the apocalypse in a wheelchair. Guess you wouldn’t know about that though. His death messed them up more than yours ever could.” Gabriel paused for a moment and frowned. “But the sad thing is that you're right. None of this will change you.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers again and one last time and they were back in John's motel room.

“Nothing will change you,” Gabriel said, “You'll still push those boys aside and toss them a bone every once in awhile so that they'll keep coming back. You'll go back to exactly what you did before and nothing will change, you won't even tell them about this.” Gabriel paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “You're a bad father, John Winchester, but somehow those boys raised themselves to be heroes. That's something you will never be.”

“I never claimed to be a hero,” John growled.

“No, but others will,” Gabriel said evenly, “And your boys will. I don't know why Dean still insists you did everything you could and Sam just agrees, too afraid to say otherwise because he doesn't want to open that box.”

“Why are you so interested in them?” John asked.

“Because they saved the world, without you I might add, and I died for them,” Gabriel said.

“You're dead?”

“Yes, and so are you,” Gabriel said. “I already told you, tonight I'm just the ghosts. In the end, we all are.”

With another snap of his fingers, Gabriel was gone.


End file.
